


Body Pillows

by winnehield



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Napping, Post-Canon, pls dont quote me on that, sylvain "pillow tits" gautier, theyre married and in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:28:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24979180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winnehield/pseuds/winnehield
Summary: Lips press to the crown of his head in a sweet, chaste kiss. "You have to get up soon, Lin," comes a mournful sigh from Sylvain. "Felix is coming over today. Gotta get ready."
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier/Linhardt von Hevring
Comments: 3
Kudos: 34





	Body Pillows

**Author's Note:**

> this was meant to be shorter. also please tell me if it looks weird. anyways uhh i drop this and run far far away

“Linhardt," Sylvain says from somewhere far away, voice soft and sweet. "I love you. So much."

Linhardt responds by shifting around in his nest of blankets and pillows, hiding his face in a wad of silk and cotton, which serves as a poor, poor excuse for the warmth of his husband's chest. He doesn't dare open his eyes. "Mmph." 

He knows Sylvain loves him. Sylvain tells him about five times every day, and it's always over the smallest things. Even if Linhardt knows full well the extent of Sylvain's love for him, it never hurts to be reminded every now and again. There’s just something so satisfying about being praised over and over for the things Linhardt had never found particularly charming about himself. 

Trying (and failing) to repress a little, drowsy smile, Linhardt shoves his face further into the pillows. If Sylvain sees that Linhardt’s far more awake than he pretends to be, his plans for the day will be near ruined. 

He must be more obvious than he thinks he is, because Sylvain chuckles to himself from across the room. Footsteps come closer to Linhardt's position. They stop right above him, and in its place the bed creaks and groans in protest as Sylvain sits besides him. 

Warm hands push his hair away from his cheek, and then move to rake through his hair soothingly. Linhardt is powerless against such well planned actions, and can do nothing but melt into the touch. He sighs, sweet and content, preening under the attention. 

"You're so cute, pretending to sleep like this," Sylvain croons, hands still running lazily through Linhardt's hair, voice brimming with amusement. "My own sleeping beauty."

A half-resigned grumble is the only response Linhardt can bother to give for now. Anything else would be too much thinking, too much work. He nudges his head further against Sylvain's hand, an easy smile forming as the pampering continues. He’s always liked being pampered

Lips press to the crown of his head in a sweet, chaste kiss. "You have to get up soon, Lin," comes a mournful sigh from Sylvain. "Felix is coming over today. Gotta get ready."

Ah. That's not what he wants to hear so early into his day. What Linhardt had been expecting had been a little more romantic than that. He had been hoping for something along the lines of,  _ "Let me keep you warm in bed while you sleep," _ or even  _ "I love you so much, I brought breakfast," _ which would've been just  _ so nice, _ especially considering the horrible weather as of late. 

Linhardt's pleasant, sleep-hazed mood is shattered almost immediately. He's so upset he cracks his eyes open- a great deal of effort on his part- and is met with his husband's patient gaze. "What." 

From above, Sylvain grins. His hands have slowed their working through Linhardt's hair now. "Felix is coming to visit us. We have to be a good, noble couple and greet him, since it's official business." 

A frown pulls at Linhardt's face. He squirms away from Sylvain's view as best he can (which is to say, not much at all), and worms his way back under the covers, dragging them up until only the top of his head peeks out. "I'm not the one called Margrave Gautier. I don't have to be there to greet the Duke in any shape or manner." 

Sylvain, the stubborn oaf, peels back his blankets just enough so that they can make eye contact. "Technically, though, you are," he begins with a smile that's a little too smug for Linhardt's liking. Sylvain gently pries Linhardt's hand off of the pillow he had been hugging close, and moves it up so that Linhardt has a full view of the brilliant, sparkling gold band around his finger. "You're married to a margrave, which, by law, makes you Margrave as well, Linhardt Gautier. And, well…” Sylvain’s cheeks are tinged with the prettiest of reds. The sight is hopelessly endearing. “It'd make me happy if you came with me.” 

Something like a blush rises to Linhardt's face rather quickly. Whether it's from Sylvain countering his only good argument or from Sylvain being so proud to call Linhardt his husband is something Linhardt doesn’t care to know. The mere fact that someone like Sylvain can fluster him so easily is frustrating in its own right, not to mention how Linhardt willingly goes out of his way to do things with him. Boring, horrible things like business meetings with other nobles or talking about borders and trade deals all day long. 

Absolutely the  _ worst _ way Linhardt could think to spend his day. 

"Fine, fine. I'll follow you to the meeting with Felix." Linhardt puts on a great show of being inconvenienced- he huffs and grumbles under his breath and scowls at Sylvain as best he can in his flustered state, and makes sure to bat Sylvain's hand away as well. "I won't enjoy any of it, you know."

A second kiss is laid upon the top of his head. "Of course. " Sylvain's expression hasn't changed a bit, still the same big, lovesick grin that makes Linhardt's chest flutter no matter how often he sees it. Then comes another kiss, to his forehead this time. "My darling Linhardt. My sleeping beauty. How could I ever make it up to you?" 

A fourth kiss is given to him without restraint. And then another, and another, and another again. Sylvain leans further down to better smother Linhardt in kisses, smiling into every one. There's no way Sylvain doesn't know how it affects Linhardt. He's always liked attention, and being coddled and doted on while in bed is the best form of attention Linhardt could ever come up with.

It's safe to say Linhardt is pacified almost immediately, melting down under his husband's touch until he's nothing more than a cozy puddle of green hair and white cotton. Any more kisses and Linhardt will surely leak through the oversized sleep shirt he wears (that is definitely, most assuredly his), and seep into the mattress, never to be seen again. He gives a little noise of contentment as Sylvain finally pecks him on the lips. A good, satisfying kiss. Hands cup his cheeks and Linhardt takes the opportunity to tug Sylvain closer by the hem of his shirt. 

They pull away just enough, just to where they can feel each other's breath fan out. Sylvain’s thumb is rubbing lazy circles into Linhardt's cheek. He’s smiling again, though in all honesty Linhardt doubts he ever stopped to begin with. 

He pretends to think long and hard about Sylvain’s question. How  _ can _ he ever gain forgiveness after dragging Linhardt out of bed for something so boring? In truth, there are a million answers Linhardt can think of, each more ridiculous than the last. He could demand breakfast in bed- something Sylvain hates with a passion- or make Sylvain find sweets and pastries for him, because that’s all Linhardt seems to crave these days. Or…

“Nap with me?” Linhardt’s grip on Sylvain’s shirt tightens. “As lovely as these pillows are, they just don’t seem to let me rest easy.”

His husband seems thoughtful. “Mm… Tempting,” he says, eyes roving over Linhardt, who is dressed in little more than sheets and a shirt. “There’s still a lot of paperwork I have to do. It won’t be a very long nap, Lin.” 

To that, Linhardt forces out a long, woeful sigh and pouts up at Sylvain in a way he hopes comes across as sad and pleading. He goes slack into the bedsheets and whines. “You’re my favorite pillow. I just can’t sleep without you anymore, Sylvain.” 

His sleeps have been nothing short of heavenly ever since he really, truly used his brain and began using Sylvain as a pillow. To go without means Linhardt isn’t receiving the rest he  _ knows _ he deserves, or that Sylvain isn't getting much of any rest at all. He is fully aware of Sylvain’s horrible sleeping habits, and has taken every measure possible to amend them. 

This is, of course, the main reason for Linhardt demanding his husband nap with him. Certainly no ulterior motives.

Sylvain, thankfully, gives in almost instantly. He shakes his head and begins to pull off his outer layers. “Well.. You know I can’t say no to that face. Give me some space to squeeze in,” he says, as if Linhardt is taking up half of their massive bed. 

The covers are pulled back just enough for Sylvain to slide in besides Linhardt. Even though he’s been out and about in the chilly Gautier weather, Sylvain’s still running like a living furnace. Linhardt immediately settles atop his chest to hide his face in his husband’s chest, making sure to press the colder parts of him into the familiar warmth. He feels Sylvain’s startled hiss more than he hears it. 

“You’re warm,” Linhardt announces, voice muffled by  _ lovely _ muscles, gained from years of fighting. 

“And you’re cold, even under all these blankets.” Arms wrap around his waist tightly. His body is all but melted against Sylvain now. “You really can’t handle the cold, huh?” 

As if on cue, Linhardt shivers involuntarily. Despite the chills running through him, his eyes flutter shut of their own accord. “No,” he concedes, already beginning to doze off. He isn't even sure if Sylvain can hear him. “Especially not the cold in the frigid north.” 

In a position like this, Linhardt finds it hard to stay awake. He’s warm and loved and safe- what more could he ask for? Would it ever be possible to find a better napping spot? He highly doubts it. Drowsiness comes onto him quickly, but that's more than expected at this point. 

Sylvain squeezes his waist gently, a reassuring gesture that has Linhardt smiling into Sylvain’s chest. His grip is firm and heavy, something Linhardt has come to enjoy quite a bit. The feeling is something similar to being wrapped up in a thick, heavy blanket, where he can sleep the nights away without interruption. No nightmares, no worries, no fears. 

Just… Sylvain. His husband. 

Out of habit, Linhardt pulls an arm free. He fumbles around blindly for Sylvain’s hand, and when he can’t find it, Sylvain does it for him, brushing their hands together. Their fingers intertwine, and Linhardt hums in appreciation as he settles in for his nap. This is how they almost always sleep- wrapped up tight in their blankets, holding hands and pressed against one another. There’s just something so  _ wonderful  _ about it that makes Linhardt sleep comfortably. 

“Mm.. goodnight,” Linhardt mumbles, more out of habit than anything else. “Love you.”

Something below him moves slightly, but manages to jostle all of Linhardt. He feels something brush against the crown of his head. One last kiss then, from Sylvain, with lots of love. Though Linhardt never hears his response, the kiss is enough of an answer for him. 


End file.
